


Fly Away

by gaialux



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-11-16 00:51:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11242854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: Characters are 17 and 18 during sexual content in this fic. Spoilers for most of the series. Background mentions of suicide and bullying, as per canon.





	Fly Away

**Author's Note:**

> Characters are 17 and 18 during sexual content in this fic. Spoilers for most of the series. Background mentions of suicide and bullying, as per canon.

Tony doesn't blame Clay for breaking.

The whole of Liberty High is cracking and crumbling around them, and Clay has this  _need_ to cling onto the walls and tug them back whole.

Tony knows this because he watches -- because he made a promise.

"Just take a breath, okay," Tony says and it's almost like they're underwater. Slow-motion while Clay brings a tray of nuts and bolts crashing to the floor. That seems to stop him, briefly. Brings him to stare as his chest rises and falls with sporadic bursts of air.

Then, like a wind up doll, he's moving again, "Fuck you!"

Until he collapses into a tool chest and Tony's there. Hand on shoulder and breathing almost as hard. All the responsibility of these _god-damn-fucking_ tapes bearing down on his entire body. But Clay pushes that aside to focus on Clay.

"Hey," he says. Somehow with enough breath to be calm and quiet. He presses in, enough to feel the heat of Clay's skin radiate through his shirt. Tony swallows. Clay finally -  _finally_ \- looks at him. "Clay. It's okay."

Back on his feet, but now he lets Tony hold him. Arms wrapped tight and if Tony can just stop this  _one_ person breaking apart at the seams--

His mouth finds Clay -- or is it Clay's that finds his? A crash of lips and teeth and Clay is  _dragging_ a hand through Tony's hair. More confident and sure than Tony's seen him in months and Tony responds. Tony presses Clay back into the tool chest and loses his lips. He goes for his cheek, his face, whatever piece of skin is on Clay's face and there,  _willing_ , for Tony to touch.

Then.

Silence.

Stillness.

The slightest hint of a breeze outside and Clay's breathing. Tony's holding his.

"Clay--"

He's gone.

 

* * *

 

"Clay."

The next day. School. Clay is at his locker, rummaging around, and his shoulders grow stiff when Tony says his name.

"Clay," Tony repeats. Louder. He takes strides to reach Clay before he can hightail it and run. Of course, this doesn't stop Clay.

"Hey--" he grabs Clay's arm before he can get too far, and spins him around. His face is emotionless. Tony is suddenly acutely aware of everyone around them. Looking. Or is he just paranoid? Hard to tell. All the same, he releases Clay's arm and lowers his voice. "Can we talk?"

When Clay glances around, Tony feels a lot less paranoid. He's not sure it's a good thing. "I have class."

"At lunch, then," Tony presses. He doesn't know why he needs this so badly. It would be easier to let it go like Clay seems to have done.

"You have a boyfriend," Clay says in a whisper through gritted teeth.

"No..." Tony clears his throat. "Look, meet me Monet's, okay?"

Tony leaves it at that.

 

* * *

 

Clay -- miraculously -- shows up at Monet's ten minutes past the start of lunch. Tony is sitting over a coffee mug that's a few anxious sips emptier.

"Hey," he calls in what he hopes is an air of nonchalance. He gestures Clay over. Clay goes. "You want a coffee? Hot chocolate?"

Clay shakes his head and doesn't sit. Tony wants to stand, to meet Clay eye-to-eye, but he doesn't.

"What is it, Tony?"

This isn't going as planned.

"I just wanted to talk." Tony's tongue feels too thick in his mouth. "About...about last night."

Clay averts Tony's gaze and shifts his backpack. Clay wonders if the tapes are in there. If he's fled through them so he can move on and push Tony from his life. The others hardly talk to him. Untrusting. Tony doesn't blame them.

"Look," Tony tries. "I understand if you just want to forget about it. We can. I still want to help you through these tapes--"

"Don't you have a boyfriend?"

Tony bites down the desire to  _shh_ him. "No," he says plainly instead. "All of this, Clay? The tapes, the secrecy? It's impossible."

After what feels like a lifetime, Clay looks at him again. "Okay," he says.

Okay.

 

* * *

 

Tony isn't sure what _okay_ means exactly, just that Clay takes him up on that offer of coffee and talk turns to escape. To running. To freedom and forgetting everything that's happened these last few months. Tony sees the pain in Clay's eyes, when he talks about Hannah and the tapes. Tony thinks he looks similar, if not a little more resigned -- after all, he heard them first. 

They hatch a plan on stained napkins that goes on until Monet's closes for the night. Then in Tony's car, with phone lights. And Tony finds himself looking --  _gazing_ \-- at Clay before he catches on, looks down, and catches up on Clay's excitement.

Tony has a car. Clay has no real desire to keep up with those tapes.

It's simple, really.

 

* * *

 

They leave at almost midnight.

A quarter moon high in the sky and street lamps near blinding. Clay almost wanted to pick up his bike, but thought better of it --

"Besides," Tony had said. "I'm not about to leave you."

He's just not sure how deep those words ran.

Clay had smiled and it hit Tony right in the core.

He was falling deep.

Too deep.

 

* * *

 

It's daybreak before Tony really  _looks_.

They're in a small town, where old ladies are wearing straw hats with flowers and the men suits on the way to work. Tony's car grumbles so much louder between the stores that seem to be closing in on them.

"We can stop," Clay says, a break in the near silence. "If you need a break."

Tony shakes his head but slows the car. "You can drive, yeah?"

Clay looks terrified, but Tony believes in him.

 

* * *

 

They're in a motel room.

In a bigger city, with bright louds and sirens and music pounding. The room itself is drab, the sheets threadbare, and the curtains hardly pull close. Clay is glancing anxiously at his phone, until Tony reaches out, pulls it away, and kisses him.

This time Clay doesn't pull away.

He tastes like the cola they grabbed from the nearby gas station, mixed with warm breath and a sense of desperation. He deepens the kiss before Tony can even think to and pulls him down onto the bed.

It's both lumpy and soft in all the wrong places, contorting Tony's body in a way that might feel uncomfortable if it weren't for Clay's mouth still seeking his. He responds. Over and over until he's dizzy -- whether from the lack of air or just... _this_.  _This_ that he thinks he may have wanted for longer than he'd ever admit. Only when Clay's hand ventures to the front of Tony's jeans does he stop. Think.

"Hey," he murmurs, still against Clay's lips. "We don't-- I didn't bring you here just to--"

Clay shakes his head and tries to kiss Tony again.

"Wait." Tony pulls back further. "I know you and Hannah..." he trails off and can't read Clay's expression. "Is this just about you getting over her? Because there are much healthier ways."

Clay moves off Tony's body and sits on the bed. Tony attempts to ignore the bulge in his --  _both_ \-- their pants. "Hannah was my friend, okay? And the fact she died sucks. A lot. But this has nothing to do with her. Tony, really.  _Nothing_."

Tony looks Clay in the eyes and searches. He's not sure what he wants to find -- doubt? second-guessing? regret? -- but he doesn't find it. Clay even goes so far as to offer a smile that makes Tony's heartbeat pick up again.

"Okay," he says and returns the smile with his own. He leans forward and catches Clay's mouth again, until he's back down on that lumpy-soft bed and not shying away from Clay's touches.

It's different than with Brad. Or especially Ryan. Clay's touches are much more cautious; but also that much more determined. Like maybe he doesn't really know what to do, but he's damn sure going to give it all he's got. Tony finds himself keening toward every touch and kiss. It's perfect. Somehow, it's just perfect.

Clay starts with the buttons of his shirt, fumbles, and Tony helps him the rest of the way out. A clear expanse of skin he wants to  _feel_ and  _taste_. Then Clay's tugging at Tony's shirt and he figures it's only fair. Skin-against-skin feels even better. Tony keeps going, down lower, until he's at the front of Clay's pants and breathes out deep. Clay lets out a sound that makes Tony's heart race.

And to think, less than two days ago, they were at school and everything was the tapes. Only the tapes.

"You can--" Clay says, cutting through what was almost a hypnotic silence, jutted only with breaths and the sound of denim on cotton. Clay's eyes are wide and his hair tousled. The scar on his forehead is still there, if Tony looks for it.

"You sure?"

Clay smiles. It falters just slightly in the corners. "I can't I know what to  _do_ , but..."

Tony tugs down the fly and frees Clay. Clay sighs, gently, when Tony takes him in his mouth.

It isn't long before Clay's hips are begging to come free under Tony's grasp.

Tony pulls off. "Do you want--?"

"Come here," Clay says in a voice that Tony doesn't quite recognise but likes -- a lot -- anyway.

He lets Clay tug their mouths and bodies together. Kissing him over and over until the outside world fades to nothing and it's just them. Just Clay and Tony in this shoddy motel room in the middle of a faraway city. And, for now, that's enough.


End file.
